Hitman: Dark, Stormy Night
by backbreakingmetal
Summary: A quick story about 47 on a hit. It has no real continuity to any of the games


I don't own Hitman, but I love the games and decided to write a story about it. Ta-da.

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The rain poured down from the sky, making a dark and miserable night that much worse. The massive mansion stood in the middle of downtown, it's structure a stark contrast to the modern homes and apartments all around it. It's gray stone long covered in moss and vines. Within the gated wall guards slowly walked carefully around, their eyes keeping keen watch for anything suspicious or out of place. They were the best at their profession and they were paid well for their services. And the best way to keep getting paid was to keep their client alive and well. A single solitary figure crouched on a rooftop down the street, hidden in the shadow of a chimney. The binoculars zoomed in and slowly moved around the mansions outer courtyard. The figure jumped from one guard to another, mentally tracing their steps and timing their routes. After memorizing everything he needed to know, he slowly turned the gaze of the binoculars upward and looked into the windows of the home. A maid slowly made her way through the bedrooms, turning each of the beds over, readying them for whomever was to occupy them. A single body guard on each floor slowly moved through the hallways occasionally checking a random room. The figured slowly moved his gaze towards the top floor. According to the map, third window from the right. A balcony stood out from the window and hung over the side of the mansion. Slowly sliding the binoculars back into the hidden pouch at the back of his jacket the figure slowly moved deeper into the shadows, disappearing into blackness.

The two guards stood at the main gate into the mansion. They quietly talked between each other, keeping a watchful eye on each person passing by. They both turned and watched as a figure slowly passed on the opposite side of the street. He wore a back suit, his collar turned up against the cold wind and rain coming down from the sky. His black hair was slicked back and pulled into a ponytail. A cigarette hang loosely from the end of his mouth as he talked in French on a cell phone. The two guards turned their attention away from him, just another piece of Euro-trash. A bum slowly walked up and asked the two guards for a cigarette. The two guards ignored him, but he persisted. They finally both turned and shoved him away. The bum fell onto the street, screaming what could only be discerned as a string of curses, then made his way back to the alley he came from. The two guards went back to their conversation completely unaware of what had happened.

The hundred dollar bill had turned out to be a good investment. The bum had distracted the two guards long enough. Spinning around and sliding the cell phone back into his jacket, the figure sprinted quickly, then leapt up grabbing onto the ledge of the eight foot wall, hauling himself easily up and onto the top. Then silently he leapt the six feet from the wall to a small ledge hanging off the edge of the mansion, level with the wall. Pressing his back against the wall, the figure stared past the edge of the mansion to the circular driveway and front courtyard. The guards slowly moved, none of them rushing to see who had just jumped the wall. His timing had been perfect. The only guards facing the East wall when he jumped were all out of eye line. Glancing at his watch, the figure turned and shimmied his way along the ledge. A door opening below him froze the figure in his tracks. Light spilled out directly beneath him and the door opened and a guard stepped out. The figure stared down as the guard mumbled something about the rain, then shut the door behind him. The figure slowly counted in his head. He did not have time for the this, but he couldn't make a move without risking being heard. The guard reached into his pocket and pulled a pack of cigarettes out, lighting one up. A multitude of scenarios immediately flashed through the figure's head. Finally deciding he reached into his jacket pulling what looking to be a small coil of fishing line out.

The guard stood in the rain smoking his cigarette. The one good thing he would have tonight. In twenty minutes he had to relieve one of the gaurds posted at the front gate. And he was not looking forward to it. He wished he could have stayed in the house. It was at least warm and dry. He had been hired onto the outfit three weeks ago expecting to be guarding dignitaries and government higher-ups, maybe even a movie star or two, but not some old man who barely left his study. He slowly took one last drag off the cigarette, then dropped it to the ground, crushing it under his boot. Something glittery seemed to pass in front of his eyes like the strand of a spider web. He reached up to touch it when suddenly searing pain tightened around his neck, cutting into his throat. Gurgling the guard struggled to unhook the radio at his belt, but he was quickly loosing a battle with unconsciousness. As blackness closed in around him, he had the sensation of being pulled upward.

The figure lifted the guard up onto the ledge with surprising ease, laying him down. Reaching around the now dead guard's neck, the figure pulled the fiber wire loose and rewrapped it, putting it back in his jacket. Quickly searching the guard, the figure found a radio, a handgun, and a ring of keys. _Perhaps this was a good idea after all_. thought the figure as he stood up and continued moving down the ledge, finally reaching the drainpipe. Gripping the drainpipe tightly, the figure pulled on it, making sure it could support his weight. Satisfied, he quickly started up the pipe. Each window he passed he slowed and glanced inside from the bottom of the window, making sure it was clear before moving on. Finally reaching the roof, the figure pulled himself up to the top. The radio made a chirping noise, causing the figure to stop and hold it to his ear.

"Danny, what's your twenty? We have to go through the new security checks before you can take your shift.."

The radio stayed silent. The figure silently hoping that the man he killed was not the same Danny.

"Danny…you taking a piss or something? Where are you?"

The voice on the other end simply grew more and more irritated, so the figure turned the radio down and made his way to the north side of the roof. Time was getting more and more precious. He quickly headed for the chimney raising up from the roof, smoke slowly drifting out from it's top.

Sebastian Wilcox sat in the chair in his study, the paper in front of him. The fire crackled as he sat flipping through the pages, reading the lines carefully. Pushing his glasses up his nose slightly, Wilcox reached out and lifted his coffee cup sipping the warm bitter liquid, then turned back to his paper.

The figure stood on the edge of the rooftop over the balcony, the chimney standing at his back. Reaching slowly into his jacket, he pulled his silenced pistol out, pulling back the slide, loading a shell into the chamber. Making sure the silencer was tight on the barrel, the figure silently dropped down onto the balcony. Putting his back to the wall, he glanced through the old smoky glass doors into the room. The figure looked around the edges of the doors looking for any alarms. Seeing none, he readied himself.

Wilcox jumped in his chair as the doors to the balcony swung open. Dropping the paper onto the table next to his chair, he grabbed his cane and stood shakily. Walking over to the doors he looked out into the pouring rain, then closed the doors, making sure they were latched tightly against the wind. Turning, he slowly moved back to his chair, dropping back into the cushions. Lifting the paper back up, he continued reading.

The figure stood in front of Wilcox, his pistol aimed directly at his face. The only thing in between was the paper the man was reading.

Wilcox felt something on his foot. He realized water was dripping on his loafers and dropped his paper down. His gaze immediately fell upon the barrel aiming at his forehead. His heart froze, realizing immediately what was about to happen.

"I'll triple whatever they're paying you."

The figure stood motionless, his body covered in shadow, backlit from the fire behind him, water slowly dripping off the end of the barrel of the silenced pistol.

"Please…"

The figure cocked the hammer of the gun back.

"…have mer--"

The silencer flashed as the gun discharged. The bullet slammed into the Wilcox's forehead, cutting off his final words. Wilcox's body slumped back against the old chair, his eyes staring forward, unmoving, unblinking. Reaching forward the figure slowly closes the now dead man's eyes. The turned moving to the portrait at the South end of the study. Pulling the painting of a ancestor off the wall, the figure exposed the safe hidden in the wall. Reaching into his jacket, he pulled a small electronic box out of another hidden pocket and attached it next to the electronic keypad. The small screen on the box lit up and slowly cycled through numbers. The figure glanced at his watch, estimating five minutes before someone would come to check on Wilcox. Finally the box stopped flashing and the safe door beeped, popping open. Opening the safe, the figure disregarded the stacks of hundred dollar bills, pushing them aside and removing a small manila folder from inside. Slipping it into his pocket, the figure moved to the door of the study removing the keys he lifted from the guard's body, flipping through the keys he found one that would slide into the key hole. He clicked the lock, locking the door, then snapped the key off in the lock. Walking back to the balcony doors, he opened the door and stepped back onto the balcony then pulled himself back up onto the roof.

He retraced his steps and stood on the ledge of the mansion, looking over to the gate. There was only one guard remaining, apparently the other had left to look for something or someone. Reaching up, the figure pulled the wig off his head and put it in his jacket pocket, then timed his jump with the gate guard's walking, jumping as soon as he turned his back. Jumping back down onto the sidewalk he slowly began moving away into the darkness. The guard at the gate turned and watched him, swearing that he had not been there a moment before. Suddenly his radio began erupting his noise. Wilcox was dead.

"Shit!"

The guard spun, pulling his gun and aiming it down the street, but the man had vanished.

_In international news today, shipping tycoon Sebastian Wilcox was murdered in his home today. Sources close to the incident indicate that Wilcox was killed execution style. Mr. Wilcox, of course, was under investigation by Interpol and a combination of British and American investigative services for arms trafficking. Earlier today, FBI Director Joseph McCready was reached for comment, but declined due to the classified nature of the investigation. In other news…._


End file.
